Blessed Baelor (a SI)

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Braavos

Herman Harte

Ser Herman Harte was the second born son of Ser Denys Harte, a second son himself, but distinguished in royal service, and part of the diplomatic mission to Braavos some thirty years past. Herman had first entered royal service, in the footsteps of his father, more than ten years ago. His ties of kinship with the Queen had found him a post under the offices of the Master of Ships. That did not last long, for the Queen was quick to have him promoted to lead the household of the young prince Baelor.

Herman had become, in the following years, both the prince's most loyal servant, and a friend and mentor. And now, it had served him well, for since the Young Dragon had died, he was known at court to be among the few who held the new king's ear. Baelor was quick to make new use of him and had sent him to Braavos as an envoy. While Aegon's rank entitled him to call himself the leader of the mission, he had no more use than a figurehead at feasts and balls, and other festivities, while he had been entrusted the real matter.

His mission came to the Secret City with unpleasant news for the Sealord, whose all but promised princess for marriage became nothing but dreams scattered among the fog of the lagoon. While that had its effect on the Sealord, who was understandably upset and unpleasant about the matter, it had the opposite effect on the keyholders and magisters of the city.

For a Sealord of Braavos to be wed to a daughter and sister of a king spoke of a great ambition. And with such often came great hubris. Braavos had no desire to find himself with a son of heir of House Prestayn raised by a mother who had only known titles held by virtue of blood and with the might of Seven Kingdoms by his side. It endeared the King to the Braavosi that he set aside such plans.

When Baelor sent forth new instructions, and wrote him of the planned expedition to Pentos, he would have torn his hair from his head at the complication, where he not as bald as any man could be. Whatever deals he propose and flatteries he had spent with abandon and feasts he had attended were not enough, and he was to charm anew the Braavosi, and incline them to look with a friendly eye to his King's plans.

He could not say that he did not understood why Baelor wished for such a war, for he had wrote him in great detail. Baelor had said that he knew such war to be justified. The royal letter was always on his table, and he had reread often the words of his king:

"…I had thrice thought of the justness of this war, cousin. And I have found it just, on account of its cause – for Pentos had sough to act against my kingdoms and the common good of my realm…"

"…as for its purpose, it is both to prevent the cheesemongers of Pentos of their might and power that allowed them such impunity, but a cause infinitely more just and divine than mere earthly quarrels. Was not in the hills of Andalos, that the Seven had proclaimed slavery to be abomination in their eyes?... And it is not in the same hills and fields that the remains of Hugor's tribe labor in shackles under the yoke of the Pentoshi?... The High Septon had proclaimed me King of the Andals, and I must see to their common good, no matter what side of the Narrow Sea they are."

"… so with a just intention I shall sail across the sea – to free the remains of Old Andalos, and even destroy the chains of slavery in a Free City and make its name truth. And if I humble Pentos, so they may leave the Dornish to their fate, by denying their fleets and their armies, it is not this the most beautiful embrace of divine revelation and the reason of man?"

"… As for revelation, I would speak of it to you some other time, when I shall see you in person and I would have vindicated myself further."

"… if I know you well, my friend, I know your worries. And I must ease them. For I have no plans to make war with the whole of Essos to release all its slaves. I know it myself it is not prudent to wage heedless wars."

" Of Dorne we have spoken before, though these new conquest it is a new matter than that of my brother. My brother's conquest, if it were one purely for the glory of his name, would have been a war I would not have quickly called just. But go to the Marches and you will see that for centuries the Dornish had wounded the common good of the people of the realm. Open a book and read of the Vulture Kings. My brother sought to defend his people as much as to punish and conquer Dorne…"

"… my war is one who can be called just more easily than the previous… when Daeron entered Dorne, he defeated his enemies and bade them swore him fealty… and now, when I shall enter Dorne anew, I come to discipline unruly vassals and sinners under the sight of the Seven."

"… I shall handle Dorne as a maester handles a putrid limb, cut the evil out of it and bind the wound so that my realms shall not bleed again."

"… and yet some worries still keep my sleep away and my nights full of prayer… We both know that evil and good both lie in a man's heart… If my wars are meant to be just, I must see that my men not become sinners themselves. I must prevent wickedness in my soldiers' heart… It is of the Reachers that I fear the worst … they could seek to make Dorne an eight hell if their fury could not be restrained and bring death and depredation both to the sinful and the innocent. I find it better to allow some sinners to live than run the risk of killing innocents."

"… but the Reach has called itself the heart of chivalry, and I must hope they shall be just, defend the young and innocent, and protect all women."

"… and while remaining on the subject of Dorne, the young Tyrell might find himself with a she-wolf for a wife and blame me for making the Old Wolf his goodfather."

Herman thought it would do to have the letter preserved, for in a century or three, the maesters might very well use it to teach their pupils on the just waging of war. But he could not speak of this to Braavosi, for he had to appeal to their purpose and pride foremost.

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Prince Aegon

Aegon had always thought that the best cure for a hangover was more wine. Wine and women, he thought, where the best things the gods had put in this world. If Daeron did not seek to conquer Dorne for Dornish wine and the Dornishman's wife, he would have certainly been a fool.

At least, Daeron was a man, a conqueror, unlike his wimpy cousin Baelor. He could not call him a man, for he had neither drunk himself into a stupor, bled a man to death or bedded a woman. Baelor was half a septon, who desired nothing more than to become an entire septon. And he had become king. If the gods were good, he would father no children and the crown would go to a more suitable person. Him.

Aegon and Baelor never suffered each other's presence. And as soon as Baelor became King, Aegon was shuffled off to Braavos as an envoy. At least, Braavos was the home of the famed courtesans, so he would not bore itself. As for Baelor's mission, he could not care less what his cousin wanted. He let that blasted Harte and the others handle the matter while he drank, ate and visited the courtesans.

For all the rumors about the courtesans, Aegon found them nothing but pretentious whore, and he did not shy to say it to his companions. At least Baelor had allowed him to bring some of them along. When he left, the Kingsguard was not at full strength, so his father and cousin permitted him to bring some knights of his choosing to guard him.

The Poetess was to fond of her books, always spouting some love poem when all he wanted was to bed her. The Nightingale was all to found of compliments about her beauty before she permitted anything. And Aegon was not a patient man, nor particularly creative with his flattery. The Moonshadow always asked for a song, and was not pleased by his voice, ill-suited for singing. The Merling Queen did not permit him to bed his young mermaids alongside her, not unless they were more grown.

And as he was not fond of them, they were not fond of him. When he first arrived, they were eager to welcome a Targaryen prince in their beds. But now, they refused to accept his coin, and he was forced to make use of common whores from brothels. Were it not for the insult, he would not care as much.

He had spoken at length in a tavern about their sorry lot, drinking and laughing alongside his companions. They had decided to return on foot to their manse, singing loudly and merrily on their way.

As they passed by the Moon Pool, a large group of bravos approached them. They picked his companion one by one, and asked the usual question for which they were known: "Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?" Drunk and uncaring, neither of them answered to the bravos' satisfaction. And in the sounds and sights of the water dance, each of them fell bleeding in their turn.

Before he realized, Aegon stood alone, a dozen or more bravos surrounding him, with their blades drawn. Aegon made to draw his own, but there was none to do so. He had forgotten in a brothel or tavern along the way. Each of them asked him the same question "Which is the most beautiful woman in the world?."

Some prudence of thought found its way into his mind, and Aegon chose to answer with what seemed to be the most obvious choice and safest bet. "It is the Nightingale."

But the answer satisfied but half of them. The other showed their displeasure at his answer, with a multitude of shouts. "It is the Veiled Lady, you fiend.". "You lie barbarian, it is the Merling Queen". And so on.

And as they made known their displeasure, their slender sword made their way into his flesh, blood gushing forth. Aegon tried in vain to change his answer again and again, but no answer would please their entire company.

As he felt his blood slowly leaving his body and his consciousness slip, his last thought was for more wine, to dull the pain.

As the approaching darkness beckoned him further, he faintly heard cries in the crowd that had gathered: "Make way for the First Sword of Braavos!"

 

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Chapter XI: Epistles​

"As you have now received news by word of mouth concerning the grave matter of the attack on the Prince Aegon, I write now to you of think best left to ink than to tongues than can be loosened by drink. As you would know, the Prince yet lives, though he stands on the brink of death, the Stranger always looming behind the door of his resting chamber. It was wisely done by the Sealord's First Sword to send him as quickly as it could happen to the House of the Red Hands, where he yet remains in the care of its healers. It is certain though that the line of your house now rests upon your royal personage, your uncle, the Hand, and his princely grandson.

The attack upon his august person seems to be one of impulse, the impulses of young and foolish men, who could not let insults heaped upon courtesans go unanswered. Yet the matter is a grave one, since these foolish men had no household of their own and were as of yet subject to the authority of their father's household. And their name are prestigious – Volentin, Prystain, Antaryon, Reyaan, Zalyne, keyholders and magisters and rich merchants all.

Their names seem to have held no import following the ambush of those honourless curs upon the Prince. What men the Watch apprehended had the happiest of the lot, for they were detained, and now are under our own power.

For those who fled, the gods had a harsher fate in mind. From what my men have gathered, it seems that by decision of some shadowy council, they have been sentenced to death without trial and their execution handled with great haste. They have not taken upon themselves to pay Faceless Men to deal with them in an underhanded matter, rather they had them assaulted in whatever house they fled, thrown out of windows, stripped naked and beheaded and their corpses dragged before the Hall of Truth.

Civil peace seemed to have fled Braavos, for once word had come that one of the perpetrators had been some distant cousin to the Sealord, the ambitions of some houses grew, and the usual politics took a bloodier approach. When the Sealord summoned the Council of Truth, to investigate the matter most thoroughly, he was stabbed thirty-three times in the Hall of Truth, accused of conspiring to murder Prince Aegon, to mend his wounded pride for the loss of his dragon bride.

As time had passed since, a new Sealord was elected. The young Cosym Fregar has assured me of his utmost desire for peace and of the mending of these wounds between the brotherhood of our two nations. It seems that this matter has been understood, in all Braavosi circles of power, to be the possible beginning of a feud between the Iron Throne and the Free City of Braavos.

As such, the Braavosi are now ruled by fear in their approaches to me, as Your Grace's envoy, rather than the usual ambition. Fregar has appointed, in the usual manner of solving feuds here, an agent for Braavos, with authority to negotiate a peace and accord with Your Grace and provide satisfaction for the injuries and offenses dealt to the person of your royal cousin.

I write to you then cousin, to ask and to receive instructions for the further affairs of my mission here and ask if the Iron Throne is willing to entertain such and under what terms.

The men that have been commanded to gather news and word of the happenings of Essos even now wander the harbors, taverns and playhouses of Braavos. Their findings have been sent to the Master of Whispers.

I remain your most devoted servant.

Ser Herman Harte"

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"To my most loyal cousin,

…

On the matter of the health of my cousin Aegon, I urge you to see him returned to our shores as soon as his state allows. Impose upon your hosts that a dozen or two healers should accompany him to King's Landing, chosen from the best of their lot. They may even find further employ here.

My uncle's wrath has grown cold since he heard of the incident and should grow colder once the surviving perpetrators will have reached the Black Cells. But he is not in the least bit pleased that the most noble personages of Braavos have sought to take the justice from the aggrieved party's hands.

Regarding the terms of the peace and agreement that should form between us and Braavos, to ensure peace and our continued freedom, with council from my most trusted advisors, we have convened of the following. For the matter of my cousin's wounds, a blood price must be paid, from the coffers of the fathers or brothers of those accursed bravos, that they may each in turn pay a prince's ransom into my cousin's hands, or if it be the Stranger's will, into those of his widow. If you must entertain their rivals in ensuring this, do so. Play their houses against each other but ensure that the keyholders of the Iron Bank prove themselves favorable to you in their majority.

…

The Free City of Braavos must agree to the payment of a subsidy that shall cover the costs of our expedition to Pentos and commit itself that it will not sue for peace with the City of Pentos, unless agreed with ourselves. The terms of the peace must ensure that they shall disband their standing hosts and fleets of war, and that they should abolish the infernal institution of slavery without compensation, and graciously accept the entwined protection of our two nations. Further terms shall be discussed later.

…

The matter of the Stepstones, upon which our sovereignty has been agreed upon almost thirty years ago, must be revisited, and our sovereignty recognized one more and enforced by Braavos' fleets in a forthwith manner that will ensure its use in our quelling of the rebellion of the accursed Dornish oath breakers, clearing the islands of the infestation of the pirates.

I leave the subtleties of the negotiations to your deft hand and silver tongue.

May the peace of the Seven be with you,

Baelor, by divine grace, King, "

 

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Chapter XII: Sorrows, Sorrows, Prayers

​

BAELOR

THE RED KEEP

Cousin Aegon's unfortunate incident had led the House of the Dragon to be limited to one male who could father heirs, for now. Daeron was young, my uncle unlikely to remarry, Aemon sworn to celibacy. My only hope was that providence would have Naerys' children survive, with so much changed. At least, among the worries and uncertainty that followed, my cousin Naerys and me found some semblance of delight at Aegon's misfortune, though we both managed to hide it from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.

Soon Naerys was to give birth. And if the Seven willed it and they survived, I would wait until they were blessed in the sept before I set sail for the Pentoshi shore. There were a few other family affairs to be settled until then, and the opportunity to do so presented itself soon enough.

My sister Rhaena, with all the confidence the age of four and ten bestowed upon a girl and princess, had come to inquire after her fate, in the wake of her elder sister's wedding.

"Brother, I have heard rumour that you wish to see me wed to Lord Bernard. Please say it is not so." she told me, with all the graveness she could muster. "I have come to tell you that I wish to swear myself to the Maiden, and as a faithful and pious man, you should not suffer the breaking of such an oath."

"Have you sworn yourself yet, without asking for my leave? Me, in which whose wardship you remain yet, may I remind you. Or you merely mean to do so?" I asked, half-fearing that her impulses had driven her to such haste.

"I did not, brother. I would not disrespect you so." she answered meekly, her face showing the truth in her words. "But you of all, know the calling of the holy life. I do not wish to wed, I would rather join the motherhouse in Stony Sept. And I had hoped that you would allow me to do so."

The mention of Stony Sept had enlightened me of what hopes and desires she entertained. And as much as it pained me, I had to crush them, for allowing such to fester further would only bring her pain and anguish in the years to come.

"You would not find your mother again by joining the Faith, Rhaena! For all the love she bore us, her heart is too broken to love us again. You know how father was, always grim and silent, never laughing and never loving. All the love he bore was for our uncle, and perhaps a semblance of it for mother. And he did not love more because all he once loved was lost. It is easy to blame him for ignoring us, but many children do not survive their infancy, and he cared not for any more of which he loved to be lost. And for all that mother loved us, when she lost father, the same pernicious thought must have burrowed in her mind. There is nothing in her heart but grief. And Daeron's death must have hardened her more."

"You cannot know that, brother. Just let me see her at least" she cried, and her anguish made me want eagerly to acquiesce to her demands. But I knew better.

"She would not have you! I went to see her when Elaena cried herself to sleep every night. But she would not receive me. They named her Elder Sister, as befits a Queen Dowager and she drowns her sorrows in her tasks. She was too "busy" to receive me. She bade me seven blessings and sent me on my way."

"But she's my mother." cried Rhaena, tears spilling on her cheeks.

"Not anymore. I am sorry, sweet sister, but we might as well be orphaned of a mother too, for all that she still lives. It pains her too much to love us further. It is better to leave her to her lightning of candles and her prayers."

" Then I will join another motherhouse, maybe at Gulltown, or Oldtown, brother. Just please, let me do so."

"If it is piety that drives you so, oaths are not the only way to be faithful. You are young still, to swear yourself so. Perhaps in a dozen years or so, if no man would find your fancy. Serving the Mother is as worthy as serving the Maiden, sister. But I would not wed you to any that you do not wish to. As long as they are of a suitable station, and a character I find suitable, I'll leave the choosing to you. And see that he should lack ambitions of rank and power, I do not need him making trouble for me." I answered her.

"Meanwhile, with our mother gone, and our sister wed to the North, there is no one to take charge of the alms from the Red Keep, save Naerys, but she is bedridden in anticipation of her birth. You will take charge of the matter until Naerys is in better health, upon which you will share this burden jointly. Perhaps you shll find your heart soothed by helping others."

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BERNARD TYRELL

THE RED KEEP

The young Tyrell rose was concerned when the King summoned him to his solar with no anticipation of what he wished of him. He knew, from the whispers at the court, that His Grace had raved often in his council at what he termed his late father's "stupidity". And for all that a son should love a father, Bernard inclined to agree with the king. He had indeed loved his father, but often he had watched his mother cry when she heard of his latest mistress, or the rumour that he imposed himself upon the daughters of Dornish lords.

The King received him in his solar and, with an unreadable and solemn face, bade him sit down.

"I have heard rumors of rumors that I seek to wed my sister to yourself. Have you any insight on how such rumors might arise, my lord Tyrell?" asked the king, with a cutting edge to his words and a severe glint in his eyes.

It seemed that, unwittingly, the new lord Tyrell found itself in the same situation with the king as his father, a situation that he was eager to rectify.

"I have not spoken of such, Your Grace, I swear on the Seven. But my mother, in her widowhood, seeks to see me well settled. She is ambitious and overeager. I pray, my king, to pardon her folly. I know I am no knight of valor, to be seen worthy of the Princess Rhaena's hand in marriage."

"All is forgiven, my lord. But you may know, and your mother also, that not being of the age of majority, as your sovereign, I have the right to oversee your marriage."

"And have you a maiden in mind… Your Grace?" asked the young lord, hoping that the king did not hold a grudge severe enough to see him wed to some ugly and barely noble chit. He was still a Tyrell after all, even if, as it seemed, not in the King's good graces.

"Fear not, Lord Bernard, you have nothing to fear from your future bride. Perhaps from your future goodfather" said the king, with mirth in his voice.

"Your Grace?"

"What think you of the lady Sansa Stark, lord Bernard?" asked the king in kind.

The lady had attended her uncle's wedding and seemed not overly displeased on being displaced as heir by the Old Wolf. Cregan Stark had explained, when a few knight had offended him with insinuations, that he did not wrong to his grand-daughter, for in the House Stark, a child came before a grandchild. The young lady was beautiful, even if not in the striking fashion of one with the blood of the dragon and seemed quite ladylike. He had not conversed with her at the feast, or with any other Stark for that matter since he was fool enough to boast without valor at his back before the house's patriarch and be shamed for it with naught but a look.

"She seemed a pleasant and beautiful young lady. Your Grace is quite wise to have chosen her as my bride. Will…will Lord Cregan attend the wedding?" Bernard asked, quite anxious.

"He will but fear not" the king laughed. "It is year before you shall wed. For now, the lady Sansa has remained at court, among my sister's ladies in waiting. You would do well to get to know her better. But I have taken enough of your time, you have my leave to return to your affairs."

Bernard rose from his chair, eager to return to his chambers. But as he made to leave, the king interrupted him: "I have still one or three things to tell you. Leave the Street of Silk out of sight and mind if you do not wish to anger Lord Stark. Tell your mother that she should emulate her goodmother, for she was wiser in her inaction than her in her actions. And, last but not least, when Dorne shall fall, your house shall have leave to do with the Qorgyles as you will, as long as you do not anger the gods."

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VISERYS TARGARYEN

THE TOWER OF THE HAND

The Prince Hand was busy with the vast and varied burdens of his position, foremost among their lot the last of the preparations for the expedition to Pentos. Its cost were north of two hundred thousand dragons – for horses, grain, arms and armor, and whatever else they might need. At least the attack on Aegon had some bright spots, for Braavos had been forced to finance this war, to save face. Hundreds of merchant ships were requisitioned, a host of seven thousand men gathered, all but awaiting the king's orders to set sail. And he would soon order so, after Naerys gave birth. Baelor had even set up a Court of Chivalry that would be responsible for the organization and discipline of the host and oversee the complaints about the spoils of war. Seven knight, old and experienced and known for their knightly valor had been given this task.

He had deplored Aegon's folly since the boy first started drinking and whoring. He should have set him straight, punished him harder. But he had not, and he now saw the result of his inactions. Aegon, barely six and twenty, would father no more children. And worse, he was a eunuch now, the laughingstock of the court. He had only a grandchild, and one more on the way, perhaps two, if the Grandmaester was right. Baelor had told him in privacy that he had no interest in matrimony, and that he wished to have Elaena marry Daeron and have them jointly as his heir. He would have argued harder for Baelor to marry, but since his own line was to rule after Baelor, he was not overly eager to do so. He had quibbled some time, about making Daeron heir before his grandfather and father. But he knew he was not likely to outlive Baelor, nor Aegon with his drinking and manifold poxes. Unless Baelor died at war. But now he knew that Aegon was no longer fit to rule, and if Baelor were to die, Seven forbid, he would rule as Regent and later Hand, without needing to take the trappings of the crown.

As if the gods knew, or cared, that he was thinking of his own legacy, a servant came: "My prince, the princess has begun her labors".

After hours of anxious waiting, he was to see his grandchildren at least. Both boys, if the servants spoke truth.

They were small and frail, but they lived. And Naerys too lived. A quick prayer to the gods was on his lips, when he heard the child's breath in his arms cease. And then that prayer turned into a curse, as yet unspoken.

Amidst Naerys' cries of anguish, as the maesters tried and failed to revive the children, for it seemed that the Stranger wished to take both, Baelor arrived. After a quick look around the chamber, Baelor turned to the master and ordered "Give me the children". Viserys meant to yell at the king in his grief, for Baelor was no healer. But Baelor's command rang again, his voice stronger, and none would gainsay him.

The Grandmaester handed him the first boy, and Baelor took it in his arms, made the sign of blessing upon his forehead, and murmured a quick prayer. And the boy began to breathe. The maesters were quick to hand over the next child, and he too, after a blessing and a prayer, began to breathe again.

Baelor returned the boys to their mother's arms, and, with a smile, asked his cousin what names she had chosen.

"Aelor. And Daemion" she said, her smile shining on her tearstained face.

And Viserys looked upon Baelor as if he was another man, as the servants whispered among themselves and called the king "Blessed".

By midnight, tales had sprung in taverns of how the king had given battle to the Stranger, and had wrestled the two young princelings from his skeletal hands.

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XIII: His Grace's Men​

Ser Jonos Edgerton

High Hills of Braavos/Andalos Highlands



Ser Jonos had been entrusted, along with the two hundred horsemen under his banner, to escort the envoys that Braavos had sent to join King Baelor's host during his great raid. It meant that he would miss out on some of the plunder and looting of Pentoshi estates, but he valued service to his King above all else.

Jonos was a tall, and broadly built man of two and twenty, black of hair and with a birthmark the shape of a marten under his left eye. Though young, he had spent the better part of a third of his life in royal service and had seen rewards for it. He was the fifth son of Manly Edgerton, Lord of Moorcastle and Master of the Horse, as his forefathers had been since Aegon's Conquest. His brother Symon was to take these duties one day after his father; his brother Damon, a merchant, also served the king, as part of the envoys to Braavos. Another brother, Criston, was the King's Counter, and his ambitious wife hoped that one day he would become Master of Coin.

He had been born his bastard son, his mother a novice at Maidenpool who had broken her vows and died in his infancy. His uncle, the Elder Brother at Quiet Isle, had fostered him with Ser Nicol Colman, the Master of the Hunt, where he learned the rudiments of swordsmanship and hunting from the man's two sons, two giants known as Omer Stone-Crusher and Samwyle Tree-Breaker.

He had first set foot in his father's castle at the age of nine, when his sire had sent from him. The Lady Edgerton had thought him a fosterling, until she had noticed the birthmark under his eye, and in a moment of panic began to count how many times she had given birth, momentarily unsure. She had accepted him though, saying "The Seven have marked him so, so I might be his mother instead of the one who perished, whoever she was and wherever she was." And soon, he had become her favourite son, the child of her soul.

He had fought in Dorne with the Young Dragon and had earned his spurs and name from the late king himself, after, with the impetuosity of youth, he had rode to the gates of the shadow city of Sunspear and had boldly requested that their Prince should hand over the keys to his fortress. Since then, he had served as he was bid to. He had led the sand steeds that King Daeron had acquired for the royal stables. He had at the behest of his king and his father, been quite busy acquiring all the necessary horseflesh for the expedition to Pentos. After that, King Baelor had entrusted him with the duty of raising two hundred riders from Crackclaw Point, and he had been occupied since with teaching them all the tricks of riding and taming their half-wild nature.

He was escorting the Braavosi from their coastland to the meet the army of the King. Seeing that his men were few and far away from the rest, they had not the opportunity to loot extensively, for they could not carry the plunder with them.

They had passed through the northern lands of Andalos, were the power of Pentos and Braavos had been waning and waxing across the centuries. No magisters had manses and estates here, for the lands were hilly and forested, and full of tribesmen, savage men. The vagaries of time and the current political situation held to the wisdom that these High Hills, quite debatable lands, now belonged to the Braavosi, but their power had not been often felt too strongly among the people. The Andal remains that dwelt here were more alike to the Crackclaw riders who formed his banner – stranger and unruly to every power but their own, than to what a Westerosi would think Andal to mean.

They had been halfway through these lands when they had met one of such, a lone rider clad in a bear's fur, carrying with him a cloth of parley held on his spear.

"Hail" he yelled, in an Andalic dialect that Jonos had, with some difficulty, understood, for his brother's lessons on Old Andalic has rooted deep in his mind. "Are you men of the dragon king?"

"We are His Grace's men" answered Jonos. "What business would you have with us?"

"I am Argos, son of Armen, come on behalf of the knight, Ser Qarlon of the Shady Vale. He would welcome you into his village and host you through the night. Come and he shall tell you what he seeks from you."

"I would not think it wise." interjected Galeo Zalyne, one of the envoys, "These men are known to be raiders, and I would not like to be robbed and slaughtered in the night". The man seemed to speak out of his own ignorance, for these Andal tribes had never raided the Braavosi, only the Flatlands, and had even served as warriors for Braavos a few times in the so-called brigand bands, according to the other envoy.

Argos, looking upon their whisperings, intervened again: "My knight would offer you the salted bread, to honour you as guests, as it be your custom across the Sea. I would swear this sevenfold."

"I see the man keeps the Seven and has offered us guest right" answered Jonos to Zalyne. "I would hear the man, and if he proves false, I have two hundred good men to keep you alive through the night."

After a long ride, they had arrived at a vale, hidden deep in a forest, were they found a hamlet. Protected by a ring of wall made of earth and wood, it held maybe two or three hundred houses within and corrals for their sheep and goats. The most striking were the blacksmith's shop, a sept which was one of the few buildings made of stone and a bastle house made of stone, which seemed to be the home of their knight. On the slopes of the hills were fields of barley and turnips, eking out whatever existence the land would afford them.

They were welcomed by a tall, fair-haired man of perhaps thirty years of age, with a seven-pointed star carved upon his forehead. He introduced himself as Ser Qarlon, "Knight of this Vale". The knight welcomed them into his hall, full of similar men with stars carved upon them, though he insisted on speaking with Jonos alone.

After Jonos and his captains had been fed, Ser Qarlon made his plight known, speaking in the Common Tongue, though strangely accented: "I have heard tales, last I was in Braavos that your dragon king across the sea, gathered a host of knights and warriors to make war upon accursed Pentos. And now I have heard word that across the Flatlands, a great army marches alongside your king, dragging the magisters out of their estates by the beard, and breaking the chains of my people. Is this what I speak of true?"

"It is, I am one of the knights in His Grace's service and I now go to join him to war." said Jonos.

"I am a knight and warrior among these hills, and with me I had gathered all the great warriors of the land. In all, we could gather four or five thousand men to join the king in battle." offered Ser Qarlon.

"His Grace has a great deal of swords and lances, men bled in conquest, and has no great need of your men, nor does he know what purpose you seek by helping him in war."

"Does he not call himself King of the Andals, and do we not thus owe him our service? Has he not been crowned by your High Septon to rule over your people and mine?" the warrior argued slyly. "As I had been judged worthy and made a knight by the septon, has not he been judged worthy by the Voice of the Seven to lead the Andal people?"

Jonos had grown uncomfortable with the man's talk, for he was no envoy to have authority to treat with these men, and no septon to argue if the King had been crowned to rule over Old Andalos. He had no intention of overstepping his bounds and said as much: "My king has given me no leave to treat with you, and I can offer you nothing in exchange for your service. If you would wish to join my king, you could speak and treat with him yourself."

The warlord conferred with his comrades through the night, and by the morning, Jonos' party had more envoys to bring forth to the King. He hoped that the King could disentangle this new, wretched knot, and would ask him to use him only for war, for he had no mettle for diplomacy. And onwards they went, towards the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne, where word had come they were to join the rest of the army.

 

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Chapter XIV: A Letter to Braavos

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"To the illustrious magister and our beloved cousin Terro Volentin, the most respectful and grateful greetings sends Moredo Lornel. Let it be known that from the sumptuous Palace of Truth we have now arrived in the lands of Pentos, under the most valiant escort of King Baelor's warriors, led by the incomparable Ser Jonos Edgerton.

We have passed through the Highlands of the Andals and Ser Jonos has been given hospitality in the house of one of their warlords. I have not been privy to their discussions, nor has the valiant knight seen fit to make their discussions known to myself.

From what little I have seen and heard, I can say this much: the warlords in the hills have gathered all in the village of this warlord Qarlon, and he has been sent forth to treat with the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and has thus joined our warband alongside most of his companions. I can only assume that the Andals wish to gather their brigand bands and join the war against Pentos. For plunder and cattle or for more loftier ambitions, I cannot say. But "Ser" Qarlon has not sought fit to call himself king of their lot, so his desires must not grow so high as conquest.

I am far away from the comfort of our palazzo in Braavos and am now forced to spend my nights under a tent and share my meals from the rations of Ser Jonos' soldiers.

Ser Jonos is a young man and quite devoted to the king. He is one of the three knights leading this troop, the other two going by the quite ferocious monikers of Stone-Crusher and Tree-Breaker. And if you take a look at those two giants amongst men, you will be tempted to believe they are more than capable of performing those deeds.

Ser Jonos is a man both experienced in battle and with a honed mind. We have conversed extensively about the war, about his deeds in Dorne, but also about the king's steeds and matters of their holy faith, of astrology and poetry. He has spoken to me of his brother, a maester turned septon, who is of the belief that one the seasons were of a uniform length, unchanging. I would be most pleased if you were to inform your factor in Oldtown to acquire a copy of his book, if possible, which, I am told, goes by the name of "The Measure of the Days."

Ser Jonos has told me of another of his brothers, a merchant by the name of Damon, now among the Westerosi envoys to our illustrious city. I must urge you to invite him into your house, so he might show good will to him. His father is among the dignitaries of the court, as Master of the Horse, and another of his brother serves in the treasury, and Ser Jonos is surely to rise high in the king's esteem.

Although I have never been before a great rider, I have, at Ser Jonos' instruction, grown skilled in the matter. It is a sad state that I would not be able to make use of it among the canals of the city. On the matter of horseflesh, Ser Jonos, may be able, with the king's approval, to allow me the purchase of a fine Dornish sand steed to be used for breeding at your stables outside the city. I would urge you not to balk at the price, for his foals would be worth even his weight in silver. According to the Dornish they never tire, and are able to run a day, a night and another day. They are smaller than warhorses, and as such could not bear a weight of armour, but we do not have, or have no use of armoured knight in our employ, so it is no ill to us.

Ser Jonos has one for his own mount, a steed dark as starless night and with a mane red like a flame, chosen from the royal herd itself, He rides it as if he were a centaur, the man and horse melding into one will. He has named it Black Brother, in jest of the men of the Night's Watch and he has joked that the horse has never obeyed his supposed oath of celibacy. He holds it as a dear friend, though head to break his unruly spirit afore he first rode it.
The king's late brother has acquired the sand steeds for his herd as prizes of war, for the Dornish would not part lightly with them. It is said they love their steeds equal to their children, a knight even stabling them in his very own hall.

Ser Jonos's men are, as I have been told, from the blood of the First Men of Westeros, though they leave in the Crownlands. They live in half-wild places and are, by consequence, the same as their land. The two hundred men are light cavalry, called hobelars, wearing gambesons of padded leather, a few among them chainmail and each bearing sword, dagger, and lance to war. They are as such more suited for the kind of campaign the Iron Throne wishes to wage than their fabled knights.

These men hold fiercely to their own will and accept their knightly captains only because they were proven in war. Even so, the two Sers Colman have had to deal with insubordination among them. Said dealing involved taking the man by his coat and throwing him into the air from one to another, until the poor man lost his meal.

We have come on the road across an estate of a Pentoshi magister, and Ser Jonos has given leave to his men to share in the plunder that the rest of the army must assuredly partook in. The magister was not at home, nor his family. It fell upon its steward to stand and watch its ruination. Ser Jonos leads his men with an iron hand, for the raping and pillaging has resumed only at pillaging.

Ser Jonos was almost struck down by one of dozen Unsullied that were kept at the manse, yet such an encounter fazed him not. He did not pray to their warrior god before slaying them, but to their god of death. I have told him of our Braavosi saying, "Valar Morghulis", and that the Stranger is but one side to the Many-Faced God and the knight elaborated on his house words. Their words and war cry are "Steadfast in unsteadiness" but they are the short version of it. According to Ser Jonos, these are their words in full: "As restless as the wind and still as a stream, Steadfast in unsteadiness, We rejoice only in death, For then we contemplate the face of God." Ser Jonos, unlike many warriors, has an inclination for mysticism, and signs and portents. His loyalty to his king is half owed to his oath and half to the tales of his saintly deeds that have spread.

I have heard that he decreed the seventh day to be one of rest, that he returned from death the two sons of Prince Aegon. But the men are a superstitious lot, prone to believing and spreading all manner of folk-tales. At night, at their campsites, they speak of creatures named squishers, which they described to be human in appearance, with large heads, and scales instead of hair, with webbing between their fingers and toes, and rows of green, needle-like teeth They are damp and smelling of fish and are said to steal children by night and eat them – which shows their existence to be but a lie to put unruly children to sleep. Their appearance seems similar to what sailors have told of the people of the Thousand Islands, far in the East.

Every slave has had his chain struck and was given the offer to follow our band to the king, an offer that all were glad to accept, fearful of Pentos' reprisal. I know not if this is the custom in all the estates of slaveholders, but the slaves were kept in miserly condition. They were men without hope afore we met them. During the day they were worked to blood and sweat and whipped hard and often, for their overseers were particularly cruel, even more that is usual among them. Between the two Colmans, their doom was swiftly dealt, and I must confess some morbid joy when I saw one of them rip the head off a particularly unremorseful one.

At night the slaves were kept chained together and kept in an underground prison, without light, for fear of revolt or flight, or simply because of the tyranny of their overseers. They laid at night on straw, kept in darkness absolute, in small cells, so that they might not plot against their masters. One hopes that the domestic slaves were kept in kinder quarters, but the master has taken all of them to Pentos.

If the gods are good, we are not to face much trouble on our way to the king. Once I have arrived, I shall write again and send a courier to you. I pray we shall meet again before the year is passed, and report before the Sealord and then await at your pleasure. I have acquired, as my share of the plunder (a pleasant and unexpected pleasure) some trivial trinkets, which I have sent to you, as gifts for the children.

May the gods keep you,

Your humble servant, Moredo Lornel"

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XV: Wars, Words, and Wonders

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The lands of Pentos were rife with many estates to be plundered. Vast fields of grains, numerous orchards with of a multitude of fruits, manses full of luxuries and fripperies, ill-trained guards, and craven slaveholders. The provisions for the army and their horses and for the beasts of burden were as such not a concern to our host.

The bounty taken from the wealth of the magisters was enough to awaken the greed inside men – gold, silver, jewels, spices, Myrish laces, Volantene glass, silks, jade, and porcelain from YiTi. The rich men of Pentos' forty families enjoyed such wealth at the expense of the multitude of slaves that laboured every day in fields and mines, without the slightest reward given or pity given. And what they had earned by foul means was now taken by sword.

Pentos had no concept of a slave gaining his freedom, and a magister could only gift his slaves to the state through his will, and not release them, save for those that worked as domestic help. One could free the tutor of his children, or their wetnurse, or his cook, but for the many fieldhands that laboured under the sun, or the miners that toiled under the grounds, such relief was not allowed.

The Pentoshi had no respect for the bounds of marriage or family of those who considered lesser, tearing them apart in search of a quick coin, or bidding them to lay with each other as they wished, in order to breed new generations for the flesh-markets. They had every right over the life and death of their slaves and exercised it with the utmost cruelty.

The smallfolk who could be considered free had a somewhat kinder life, but not a fortunate one. The lands of Pentos belonged to its wealthy, with no exception, and the manifold slaves left no place for them to find work there. So many of them lived at the outskirts of towns and cities, becoming singers and tumblers, debasing themselves before the great and wealthy, to earn a meagre living.

The proximity of Pentos and Braavos and their many wars did nothing to ease the state of slavery in this so-called Free City. It was as if in their pride, the magisters made slavery much crueller to spite their Braavosi rivals and their First Law.

I had landed a host of almost seven thousand men and fifteen thousand horses on the shores of the Flatlands and advanced, raiding and burning, towards the Little Rhoyne were the purpose of my quest laid. I had divided the army in three columns, as to bring fire and sword to a wider expanse. In turn, these columns sent forth smaller forays, and the width of destruction was as large as fifty miles. We advanced around fourteen miles per day, but our return would undoubtedly be longer, courtesy of the Valyrian road between Ghoyan Drohe and Pentos.

We stumbled across some sellsword companies, which Pentos was quick to employ, but they were a meagre lot, and time was not on the side of Pentos to employ the better one, for the Disputed Lands were far away, and many a sellsword was under contract to one or another of the Three Daughters. We came across some smaller towns, weakly fortified, who were more than eager to ransom their way to safety. Yet their entreaties were for naught, and their weak walls fell under our assaults.

Since the Braavosi had so kindly "offered" to pay our expenses, my own share of the plunder was to make its way to the royal treasury. As king, it was my right to keep a fifth of all movable property taken and the most valuable of the loot. I had made it clear that every book found was to find its way to me, and the same to every piece of Valyrian steel weaponry or jewellery save for blades taken from the hands of a foe slain in combat. Of my own share, I intended to set two thirds aside, as to make a seventh, to await a day a new sept would be built in King's Landing, one fit to hold the Seven Stones themselves. What the Royal fleet took upon the sea was all mine to keep, for from my treasury the ships were paid, the provisions and arms were purchased, and the men onboard were paid wages from my purse. What ships of his own the Oakenfist brought to battle would have their plunder find its wat into his own coffers, save for the fifth that was owed to me.

The days thus passed as we advanced, occupying us mostly with bloodshed, and plunder, and the breaking of chains. As every war since the world began, not all men behaved themselves as their conscience bid them to. Often, I had to have such men punished according to their crimes. A man who would not obey his captain would be struck with the shaft of a lance, or if he proved obstinate, he was tied to a rope by the tail of an ass and walk behind the army. Men who drank and then fought with their comrades were struck from the rolls when it came to the sharing of bounty. Thieves would have their ears cut.

A knight of foul renown lost his arms playing dice and left his armour as pledge for a barrel of Arbor Red to a companion of his. He then furthered his infamy by attempting to force his attentions on a maiden freshly freed from her chains. To him I dealt the greatest infamy. Every knight could make a knight if the other were capable of deed or reason. The king himself, or his heir, had the same authority, though they were knight beforehand, even if they had not held a sword once. And many knights were dubbed in centuries and millennia past, but none undone. Monsters in human flesh, made Sers by virtue of a pouch of gold exchanging hands, held their titles until their dying breath. The same with men who spat on every notion of chivalry and behaved like the foulest sellsword. This young knight served as an example that would, hopefully, be followed.
Ser Alyn of Oxcross had the ill fortune of being awoken by all my four and twenty serjeants-at-arms that I brought with me to war, dragged out of his tent and bade to put on his arms and armour, which were retrieved from where they were ill-placed. And he was taken before my royal presence.

In front of all my commanders and captains, of famed knights and warriors I cut his baldric cut with my dagger and took the straps of his spurs. I unsheathed his blade and broke it on his helmeted head and spoke his sentence: "You are no longer Knight but Knave. You may not bear the title Ser or be appointed in any service on the crown's coffers, you have no right to accuse or challenge any knight. Go now and tell your shame."

***​

Our march through the Flatlands attracted not only the attention of Pentos. The Khal Jhogo, with his ten thousand riders, sought to add to the misfortune of Pentos, and led his warriors into the Flatlands, for gold and slaves. Fortunately, our raiding parties had found of their advance, and we had the time to gather the host to its full strength before we were to give battle to them.

We gave battle at the fords of a river neither army bothered to find the name of. The Khal's screamers charged across the river into a rain of arrows loosed by archers from the Marches, felling them by tens and hundreds. And they charged into the shields and pikes of the infantry, arrayed before them, and more of them fell. When the wits of my men began to waver, the knights and hobelar charged against the horse lords, and blade meet blade, blood was shed, and by nightfall, the day was won. The savage horsemen died in their thousand by arrow, lance, pike, and sword or drowned in the river. Those who fled were chased and found the same doom as the rest. A pitiful remain fled then, returning in shame to the Grass Sea.

Khal Jhogo perished at the hand of Hendrick the Sharp-Witted, after his horse was slain, his head crushed by Hendrick's foot after he had failed to extract his sword from the stallion. Hendrick, it seemed, had grown brave on account of his own tall tales, resigned his post in the City Watch, and had taken arms and sailed across the Narrow Sea to win glory and renown. It seemed the gods held him in their favour, that such fortune should have struck him.

As befits one who had slain the commander of an enemy army, I had the man knighted, gave him fifty dragons to acquire arms and armour and a mount worthy of his new station, and promised him a village in the Crownlands to lord over. As much as his great deed was one of luck, to reward him would bolster the heart of my men, making them more eager to prove themselves in battle in hope of a reward.

I had slain myself mayhap half a dozen riders, charging forth with three Kingsguards by my side and two dozen knight following me closely. Not a deed of arms to be remembered in tales of glory, for they were poorly armed and armoured, but enough that men would see me for a warrior. It was my first taste of real battle, and as I laid that night to sleep, I could still remember the stench of the dead, the screams of the dying, the carrion crows feasting on the flesh of the slain.

***​

Once we had reached the shore of the Little Rhoyne, the army camped in a small town, freshly sacked. It was there that the Braavosi observers, escorted by Ser Jonos, joined at last our party.

Ser Jonos, in his usual boisterous manner, had his riders take out their helmets and yell out "Long live His Grace" as I walked out of my tent. I thanked him for his service and greeted the envoys with bread and salt, as it was their due and it was to my surprise that there were more than I expected.

Once I had met with the Braavosi according to the usual courtesy, I invited the Andal war chiefs that had come this far to join me and my council in my tent, to ascertain the purpose of their arrival.

Once I enquired of their desire, Ser Qarlon was more than eager to tell it: "We have heard, o great king, of your army coming from across the Sea, to humble the slave masters and break the shackles of our people and we greatly desire to join your host and show our worth in battle alongside you."

"And what you ask for your service, brave knights? For you owe me no fealty, or loyalty, or debt to be repaid" I answered them. It was time for prudence, for I had not foreseen such before I started this conflict, and I had no desire to complicate it beyond its purpose.

"We only desire to fight by your side in your liberation of Andalos, Your Grace. And as for what do we owe you, did the High Septon not crown you as King of the Andals, and are we not Andals?" said the knight with cunning words.

"If you would speak to me of Faith, does not the Seven-Pointed Star speak of Westeros as the promised land. There is no sacredness to the land of Andalos. I have come to give battle against the enemies of my realm, not to conquer Old Andalos. I have a kingdom to reconquer at home and godless men to punish. If I break the chains of the slaves, it is because the Seven abhor slavery. I have offered to give them passage across the Narrow Sea, in the land that the Seven promised them, in my own lands, so they might live as free men."

And negotiations continued. If Ser Qarlon saw that I did not seek to conquer Andalos, he asked for help to establish anew the old kingdom and promised to swear fealty to me any my heirs. After consulting with my own council, and countless hours, I settled upon an offer for them:

"I give you my leave to bring sword and fire to everything north of Pentos and keep al plunder to yourself. If you wish for it, I will give to you and yours the same offer I give to the men I free, come across the Sea and you would have lands of your own to rule and to live. If that is not your desire, then I would give you weapons and armour, and the horses of the expedition when we return to our home shores. I would send to you septons and maesters, and gold to wage your war for Andalos. I would welcome your sons into my household and make knights of them and find husbands for your daughters. But I have not the inclination, nor the time to gain conquests in Essos, and our esteemed Braavosi allies would not look kindly upon such. It is my advice then, to seek an audience with the Sealord, and put before him your plans, and if the Seven smile upon you, they will find wisdom in carving a kingdom from Pentos and weakening their magisters. But it was not for such that the One-Who-Is-Seven sent me here."

I met then with the Braavosi again, to ease their worries. They sent new messenger to Braavos, to seek new instructions. I sent my own messengers, carrier pigeons eager to return to their dovecotes at the red keep. There were no maesters and castles here, to send ravens forth, and so I indulged in an experiment of my own. I had sent words by messenger too, who knew the matter more in depth, to bring knowledge of these negotiations to my uncle.

***​

In that evening, a stag appeared on the hour that the sun set, white as driven snow, and I rode to hunt it, alongside a small party, Ser Oscar Tully, Ser Jonos Edgerton, Ser Olyvar Ferren, and Ser Qarlon the Andal among them. We rode long amid the ever-encroaching darkness, and yet the stag seemed as further away as it had at the beginning, leaping away as soon as we approached him.

It became night, and in the cloudy sky, only the Crone's Lantern light shining through, guiding us on our path. And it became morning again, and we had lost it from our sight, save for the muddy tracks it left behind, courtesy of the rain. Drenched to the bone, Ser Oscar advised me to return to our camp, and abandon the hunt. But I had an inkling that the omen meant much more than a night that ended in folly. I sent messenger to tell the captains that I would only return with the white stag felled, and sent for beasts of burden to carry supplies, and many more with no burden, for I suspected the Seven guided me to a treasure greater than we had acquired since we set foot in Essos.

And so, the hunt continued in the hills, following the stag to the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne. And in the morning of the seventh day, we saw the stag again.
In the shadow waters of the river, now but a creek, the white hart entered a cave inside a hill. I dismounted my steed, and with a motion of the hand, bade the rest of the hunt to remain in their places. And treading in the water, I followed the beast into the cave.

A long tunnel awaited me, the stones slippery from the stream. I walked slowly and patiently into the ever-growing darkness, nought but a few rays of sunshine peeking through. As moments passed while I ventured forth, I saw a shining light in front of me, as if from a lantern. Soon, I reached a cavern where the purpose of my quest awaited.

The cavern was full of wondrous light, as if it was midday. And in that cavern Seven Stones awaited. Roughly carved from stone, a wizened and bearded man, carrying scales of iron. A warrior, covered in carved mail, a sword in his hand, a shield at his feet. A craftsman, with a hammer in one hand, his handle of petrified wood, and head of steel, a chisel in the other hand, with a foot upon a plow. A woman, her face kind and motherly, with a gentle smile. A maiden, in a stony dress that flowed around her as it were silk, a wreath upon her head, made of ceramic flowers. A crone, her face wrinkled, a lantern in her hand, the fount of the light in the chamber, a raven carved of jet stone perched upon her shoulders. And in the middle of them all, of blackest stone, but not the molten stone of dragon lords, nor the oily one of Yeen, a dark figure in robes and hooded, his face a skull as white as snow.

And their eyes were on me, no matter if I stepped forth or backwards. I saw their eyes looking at me, felt them at the back of my head. They were the judging eyes of a father, come to scold his child for an ill deed. They were the kindly eyes of a mother, giving comfort for a scraped knee. They were the patient eye of a teacher, looking upon a pupil eager to go out and play. They were the bold eyes of a knight, throwing a challenge against overwhelming odds. They were eyes full of wisdom, looking down at the foolishness of men. They were laughing and loving eyes. They were the cold eyes of death, unblinking.

And in their godly presence, I fell upon my knees and prayed. Slowly, my companions emerged from the tunnel, looked upon the carved faces of the Seven in wonder and wave, and fell prostrate upon the cold stone floor of the cave. None saw the white hart leave the cave or pass them by on their way inside. No tracks were found of it from then. It had disappeared without a trace, his god-given purpose fulfilled.

Once the divine presence no longer overwhelmed us, we left the cave and took the Seven Stones with us and carried them back to camp, upon the backs of our mules. Seven days we rode back to camp, where worried men awaited us.

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XVI: Curious Daeron
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Daeron
Red Keep

When cousin Baelor left with his fleet to go to Pentos, Daeron was inconsolable. He had begged his cousin to bring him on as a page, so he could gain fame like the knights of old he read about. His grandfather had told him he couldn't go since he was the future of House Targaryen. Daeron thought that was stupid and his grandfather was wrong. His dead great-uncle Aegon and cousin Daeron were the past of their House – since they were dead. He and his younger brothers were the present, being very much alive. And his mother's future kids were the future, since they weren't born yet. He had told Baelor that, and had told him he should probably change his Hand, since his granddad had become a bit dumb, probably because he was so old.
It was nice to be old though. Nobody told his grandfather what to do. And he could even yell at Baelor, even if he was the king. And he yelled a lot at him, and tore out his hair. And then he calmed down, sat at his desk writing messages to a lot of people, telling them what do, muttering under his mustache.

And because he was a kid, everybody told him what to do. He had to have a lot of lessons, and they made him play with Elaena sometimes, instead with the squires at the court. And Baelor was always trying to teach him about ruling. But Daeron wasn't his child, so it wasn't like he would ever become the king. Daeron thought that was because Baelor was older, and he grew a bit dumber. And he hadn't even brought his uncle Aemon with him, who everybody knew was the greatest knight ever. He said he was still sick because Lord Wyl put him in a cave, so he wanted to let him recover. But kinghts in tales never stopped to rest, so Daeron thought that his uncle didn't that much rest. At least, Baelor said he could be his uncle's page when he became healthier.

Daeron wished he would have been older, so he could do whatever he wanted, but he was afraid of growing dumber. But perhaps some people didn't become as dumb as they grew up. And some became very dumb, like cousin Daeron who died because he was dumb enough to trust the Dornish. "Never trust a Dornishman when death is on the line" his dad told him once.

The court used to be more fun when there were a lot of knights around, before Baelor left, who told him lots of tales about their deeds in battle. Now he spent most of his days in lessons, which were interesting enough, sometimes; and in the training yard, learning how to wield a sword. But he did not like the fact that his tutors often insisted on how a prince should act. "You most not do this, or that! That's not how a prince ought to act!"

'How would they know?' thought Daeron.'They weren't princes. A blacksmith doesn't offer advice on how a knight should comport itself because he doesn't know.'. It all made sense in his mind – only a prince should know how a prince ought to behave, so that means he should only listen to uncle Aemon, or cousin Baelor, or his grandfather. Or his father perhaps, but he's father did not offer him such advice, the few times he spoke with him. And father was sick now, sicker than uncle Aemon. His grandfather told him that some very bad people hurt his father in Braavos. Some of them were even brought to King's Landing to be executed. He snuck out to see one hanged, but he had night terrors after for a fortnight.

When he wasn't at his lessons, he played with his companions, sons of lords from the Crownlands, which were pages and squires for the knights at court. And he played with his cousin Elaena, which they made him do. But she was useful as a princess in a tower when he play-acted as Davos the Dragonslayer, or Serwyn of the Silver Shield.

When he grew tired of playing, he went to the library, not for lessons, but to read of the heroes that lived long ago. It was better to hear tales, than to read them though. He had pestered Lord Cregan for stories of the Dance of Dragons, but he was old and scary and would not tell him anything. His son, Jonnel, was friendlier, and he told him lots of tales and legends of the North he learned from his old nurse, Old Nan. He told his grandfather that they should bring the old lady to court, so she could tell him stories. But Jonnel said she doesn't want to leave Winterfell. At least he promised to write all the stories in a very big book and send it to him to read, but only if he was well-behaved and attended all his lessons. So Daeron had to, even if he didn't want always.

He told cousin Daena to check up on Jonnel, see if he was lying or not. Because if he did, then he would tell it to the king, and he would make him write it. Because Baelor always said that men should keep to their oaths. Daena promised to do so, but Daeron couldn't tell Baelor if she broke his promise, because Baelor didn't say women had to keep their oaths. Daeron thought that was stupid, and everybody shouldn't break their promises.
Baelor also told him stories, before he left. Lots of fairy tales about many things, like a prince who traveled to his uncle with a talking and flying horse, that ate hot coal; about another prince, who had to guard golden apples; about a boy born with a book in his hand; about a knight who brought back the sun and the moon, stolen by an evil giant; about a very clever sheperd, who tricked a lot of knights and married a princess. Stories about a man that traveled to the land of giants and to that of tiny tiny people, and to one of talking horses. About a princess that lived on a mountain full of evil imps, who was saved by a miner boy and had a very old grandmother. And there was one about a boy made of wood who dreamed of becoming one of flesh and bone, another about a young squire who went looking for a fallen star.

***​

Daeron heard that Baelor send a messenger to his grandfather about the war in Pentos, but nobody told him what was in the letter he brought. Impatient, he went into the secret passages in the Red Keep. His uncle had showed them to him. He knew that if he went into one of the tunnels from a chamber with a mosaic of a dragon. The tunnels was a shaft, which one could climb up to his grandfather's solar. So he went through there, climbed all the way up and hid there, so he could hear what the messenger would talk with his grandfather.

When he heard the door open, he sat still and did not make a sound, so they would not find him. He heard his grandfather saying "Welcome, Ser Jonos. Sit and drink. I have the best of the Dornish vintage, brought by my nephew Daeron, may the Seven bless him. Or if you would not partake in such, I have Arbor Red, which Lord Redwyne has gifted me at princess Daena's wedding. Drink and tell me what news you bring of war and of my nephew."

"My many thanks, Lord… Prince Hand" said the knight. Daeron had to stifle a laugh. "It is my greatest joy to report to you that the king has been ever victorious. Our raid has seen no great obstacles, the pitiful sellsword companies that Pentos has bought have been scattered into the four winds and our army has crushed a khalasar beneath its lances, and His Graces has distinguished himself most bravely."

"A khalasar?" asked Daeron's grandfather, somewhat surprised. "It was to be expected. I suppose. You mention there was no trouble. Am I to assume that Braavos' envoys have arrived without trouble?"

"Do not insult me, my prince" replied Ser Jonos."I always do my duty with the utmost dilligence. Though our travels have been surprising."

"Pray tell me" said the Hand, bemused.

" We came across war chiefs of Old Andalos, more than eager to reconquer the old homeland in the name of King Baelor."

"Tell me he has not entagled himself so," said his grandfather, suddenly alarmed. Daeron didn't know, hidden where he was, why his grandfather was so upset. Nobody was upset that cousin Daeron conquered dorne, or Aegon the First the Seven Kingdoms. If Baelor conquered Pentos, wouldn't that mean he was a great king?

"Fear not, my prince. His Grace has limited himself to giving them his leave to raid as they please, and has promised them only arms and armor, horses, gold, maesters and septons. It is not a pittance, but if they wish for conquest, they must look at Braavos for aid."

"Praise the Seven then."

"Speaking of the gods, my prince, I am most joyous to report that His Grace, guided by their hand through a with hart, has discovered the Seven Stones carved by Hugor. I have seen them with my own eyes, and the presence of the gods in them is undeniable."

"It seems that his dreams were not folly after all" laughed his grandfather. "Have the heralds announce it in the city. Tell the grandmaester to spread the news to the realm, firstly to the Starry Sept. And you have a leave of a sennight. Visit your mother, spread the joyous news."

Once they left, Daeron carefully snuck out. At dinner that night he asked his grandfather what was special about the Stones. He shouldn't have done so, because his grandfather grew suspicious on how he knew such, and at last, got the truth out of him. Maybe he wasn't that dumb for an old man. Or maybe he wasn't that old.

Notes:

Daeron is a bit of a dumb kid, who thinks he's smart. Fond of stories, too curious for his own good, but not a bad seed. And casually racist towards the Dornish - he's Aegon's son after all. He'll be better when he grows up.

Once again, Ser Jonos is the king's errand boy. His service will undoubtedly be rewarde sometimes. Maybe he'll become hand one day (of course, only after Ser Hendrick retires from the post). If Baelor continues this way,our boy Jonos will miss all battles. At least his mother would be happy about that. And Jonos is happy he got only a week's leave - it's to short of a time for his mother to find him a bride and have him married.

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XVII: What shall we do with a wounded sailor?​

The shores of Pentos burned. The fields of Pentos burned. The cities of Pentos burned. The people of the Seven Kingdoms had come with fire and blood and punished the Pentoshi for the gall of involving themselves in a war not their own.

On land, King Baelor and his great host had wreaked such damage that the magisters of Pentos would have preferred a dozen khalasars over them. For khals could be bought, but Baelor's knights could not.

On the sea, it fell to Alyn Velaryon to wage war against Pentos, to destroy whatever warships the Free City had left, and seize or destroy all their merchant ships. Sailing under his orders were the king's own ships and the ships of his native Driftmark - his own ships.

Alyn Velaryon, the Oakenfist, preferred to lead his own ships to greater bounties, disregarding the risks. He would suffer nothing if one of the king's ships were lost and not of his own – but neither would he gain much. Of the bounty captured by the king's ships, he was entitled but to a seventh, his due as admiral. Of the bounty brought by the Velaryon sails, he needed but to give the king his fifth, for it was he who had the ships bought or built, it was he who paid the wages of his sailors, it was he who paid for their arms, it was he who paid for their supplies.

And as the sails of the Sunset made war against those of the Sunrise, he enjoyed the great sight of the coffers of Driftmark filling up with gold and his warehouses filling with the cargoes of the merchant ships, now profiting him and not the cheesemongers of Pentos.

It was no great a fortune to rival that of the Sea Snake, but to return Driftmark and House Velaryon to its former glory would have been the work of generations. He was not Corlys Velaryon, to weep at the sight of a house fallen on its knees.

He was the Oakenfist, Master of Ships and Lord Admiral, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark. He had long ago been content with whatever fate would give him, since he had thought to claim a dragon and suffered for his folly. But if he happily accepted what fate would give him, he would not throw away the chances that the gods offered.

So now he sailed from Driftmark, boarded some ship or other, deplored the poor show of their men before he killed them, took the ship for his own, and returned from Driftmark, unsatisfied. There was no great glory to be found, not since he had sailed at first too late, for the Braavosi had already destroyed most of Pentos' power at sea. Yet he yearned for the greater valour of his earlier deeds, of the time when he crushed the Braavosi in the Stepstones. He whished to lead his great fleet to a grand battle, and like a commander charging with his knights, joust his seahorse, his ship, and fell the enemy from its mount.

Perhaps striking anew at Dorne when the time came would satisfy his need for renown. If not, he would turn Driftmark to his daughter, and sail to the Jade Sea, beyond Asshai and past the Saffron Straights, or to the ends of the Shivering Sea, or sail round the world, surpassing his own grandsire – exploration rather than deeds of war winning him undying fame.

His daughter was not so jaded, her joy was easier to be found. Laena had named her own ship Moondancer, for her late mother's late dragon. And when she sailed, she did not seek some great deed. She sought to board a ship and wet her sword with the blood of the enemies, singing in joy at them falling before her, never to rise again.

And now she was gone with her ship, and he, thanks to some godsdamned Pentoshi sailor, was home at Driftmark, nursing a wounded leg, and watching from the window of his solar, hoping to see a glimpse of Moondancer's sails. He would listen then to Laena's tales, and accept that paltry replacement for sailing forth himself. He had no shortage of duties to address, overseeing the repairs of ship, the purchase of supplies and their repartition, going through his correspondence from the many ports of the kingdom. But he had little desire now to attend to such.

He was but five and forty, but his wounds made him an older man in truth, and his pains made him tired, tired enough to doze on his chair while watching the sea.

He knew not how much he slept, but his rest was disturbed by one of his men, coming with great haste and much noise, disturbing him from his slumber.

"Milord, the Lady Laena has returned, and with ill news indeed!" said the guard, and bade his lord join him to the docks, to meet his daughter and hear of it in detail.

So, Lord Alyn, with great pain, hobbled over to the docks, cursing the stone steps as he came down from his tower, gripping his cane tight and grinding his teeth. His daughter should have been more dutiful, and should have come to him, not him to her. But he was not a lesser man to show himself too weak to climb down from his castle's tower, even if it ailed him to do so.

His daughter was amid many captains upon the shore, speaking and gesticulating animatedly, a new scar upon her cheek to show of her bravery, or perhaps lack of care.

He called to her: "Laena, come and greet your old father. Pray tell, what grave news you bring that I may be summoned in such haste and with such lack of decorum?"

Hearing his voice, Laena turned her head towards him, and a moment passed, and she ran into his arms, hugging him with her usual exuberance.

"Oh, father! Our prey was paltry, as usual. Few merchants dare to venture forth from Pentos' harbours now they lack warships to escort them. Their offerings are paltry, their men disappointing to fight."

"Those are disappointing news, not ill tidings, Laena" said the Lord Velaryon, suddenly irked. "Should I have you returned to your maester's lessons, so that you might learn the proper use of words?"

"No, father." Laena said gravely, her prior exuberance gone without a trace." When we turned our sails for Driftmark, we glimpsed Lyseni warships sailing north. We gave no battle, for we were too few, and sailed with great haste home."

"Lyseni? Are they fool enough to challenge me? Or perhaps they thought that Baelor meant Pentos' doom for them afterwards." replied the Oakenfist.
He then sat still a moment, a thoughtful gaze in his eye, raised one hand to his eye, gripped his wrist with the other, and moved his wrist and fingers left and right, an aid to declutter his thoughts. Then the moment passed, the silence broke, and the Master of the Tides broke into a loud booming laugh.

He made to speak but laughed again. He made again to speak, but the peals of laughter allowed him not. At last, his bout of sudden hilarity ended and he spoke, trying to make his tone grave: "The Lyseni are masters of their own damnation. They aided Dorne because Daeron thought to ally with Braavos. And when Baelor went with fire and sword to Pentos, they thought they were next and thought they should not stand idly by and await their fate. But they prophesized their own doom and by bringing ships against me, their deeds fulfil their destruction, for I shall sink them into the abyss, the Merling King shall claim them as his thralls, and thank me for the gift."

That said, the Master of Ships turned to his duty: "Summon the captains present for council" he said to his daughter. "Call the maester to my solar, for I mean to write to the Hand" he barked to a man-at-arms. "And someone fetch me a map of the Stepstones."

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XVIII: The First Great Deed, by Maester Alyn, of Summerhall



​

The Pentoshi expedition, what men across the Seven Kingdoms now misguidedly call the War for the Stones, or the Humbling of Pentos, or among the Faith as the Sacred Passage, more suitable names, ended with widespread destruction of the countryside of that Free City, King's Baelor army carrying thousands of carts of loot behind them.

Having landed north of Pentos, the host carved a path of destruction with fire and sword until they reached the Velvet Hills. There the army rested and awaited with increasing worry the return of the king, who had gone to hunt a white hart, returning only after a fortnight.

But the fact that the king was once again with his army, and the host ready to march again, paled in importance to what His Grace had brought with him. Not the white stag, which the king later called a messenger from above, but the Seven Stones of the Faithful, now counted the greatest relics of the Faith, being, as legend claims it, the first carved statues of the Seven, supposedly by Hugor's own hands. While colleagues at the Citadel have not been able, through lack of means, to ascertain that the Stones were indeed carved by his hand, it is an unanimous belief among those who possess the copper link of history that these statues are indeed those that the Andals, before the Crossing, held to have been the original ones.

The High Septon was quick in recognising such, and it is said, that those among the Most Devout, and also among the most devout, through long prayers and shows of piety, have been able to sense the presence of the gods themselves while beholding the statues. Sers Oscar Tully and Jonos Edgerton, who had joined King Baelor on the hunt, as had some peculiar Andal warlord, have sworn that they had felt the self-same presence, when they were the first to beheld them after countless centuries.

Once the king had acquired these most holy relics, his army advanced towards Ghoyan Drohe, and continued their raids while marching upon the Valyrian road towards Pentos. The approaching army brought great fear in the hearts of the Pentoshi magisters, which already suffered from a joint blockade of the Braavosi and royal fleets. They beheaded their fourth prince for the year and sent the fifth to make peace.

The Pentoshi were to suffer a grievous pace, for the king and the Sealord impose upon the city strict conditions. The many slaves that suffered under the yoke of the magisters, and where until now not freed by Baelor's knight, were to receive their freedom, without compensation for their former masters and no Pentoshi would be involved in the slave trade. The great farming estates were to be carved in half, one coming into the possession of those who had once laboured without pay.

Pentos could keep but twenty warships, was prohibited from employing sellswords or free companies, could maintain no permanent force beyond the City Watch, though citizen militias could be called to arms for a time, for training, or for defence of their lands.

The king was not satisfied with such, and an indemnity of fifty thousand dragons a year was to be paid to the Iron Throne for the next twenty years. Collecting the gold would serve also allow the Westerosi envoys to inspect if Pentos held true to its word.

A peace made with Pentos, the royal host returned home, with great stores of plunder and many freed Andal slaves, which sought a better fate across the sea. It was they that bestowed upon the Blessed King one of his many monikers, the Breaker of Chains.

The Seven Stones were transported home on seven different ships, the king being overly prudent in the matter. Once the relics were ashore, the ships were dismantled, and the wood stored for further use. The desk that even now is present in the King's solar was made from the ship that carried the statue of the Crone, furniture in various septs, septries and motherhouses is said to be made from these seven ships, and there is a great trade amidst the merchants and the richer smallfolk in nails purported to have once belonged to these vessels, now fashioned into amulets.

The Seven Stones remained in King's Landing, although the Most Devout Abelar purported to have been sent a divine vision to escort them to the Starry Sept. The King refused him with the greatest prejudice, denying the truth of his revelation, asserting that if the matter were true, the One-Who-Is-Seven would have surely given him knowledge of the location of the Stones, and not to the king.

For the King once returned, had proclaimed that the Seven had revealed unto him the location of the Seven Stones and sent a white hart to guide him. Once his Vision was made known all across the realm, neither the High Septon or the Conclave of the Most Devout made no further such requests. The Starry Sept was to be pleased with lesser relics, carved from the prows of the seven ships. The captains of the ships were knighted and settled with lands, on the condition that they were to sail no further in the service of the king, for no greater mission would he have for them than escorting such holy relics. Their descendants are easily recognised by their banners, each depicting a ship with a symbol of one of the seven aspects of the One.

The relics remained in the Royal Sept for a time, until a more suitable place for hosting them was to be build, a fact that would have more reaching consequences and would greatly benefit King Baelor and the kings that came after him.

Once the first of the Seven Great Deeds of the Blessed Baelor was finished, the king turned his eyes towards home and then southwards, were the Dornish wallowed in rebellion and oathbreaking, and unto the Stepstones, which were to be the first step in resolving the matter and making the Seven Kingdoms whole.

Those who wish to know in further detail of the First Great Deed, of Baelor's Revelation, the Hunt of the White Hart and the Holy Passage, must look upon the work of Archmaester Tommen, or if they are inclined to a more hagiographical work, they should read "The Seven Great Deeds, or the most holy life of the Blessed Baelor", written by Septon Bonifer of the Stoney Sept.

 

[WinRar Archivist]

Chapter XIX: Affairs of State and Faith​

Baelor
The Red Keep

"Did you have to needle that Hightower septon so?" asked my uncle, with his usual tone of begrudging fondness mixed with irritability, which he used when he did not approve of something I've done but was amused by it.

"If I cannot spit upon the Hightowers, I shall spite them." I responded him. "When I die, that will be my greatest deed and renown. They shall write upon my tomb: <<Of all the kings that ever sat the Iron Throne, none were half as spiteful>>. Abelar still resents me for crushing his hopes and dreams – and plays at games and makes mockery of the will of the Seven-Who-Are-One. Lord Lyonel is still the same man who defied the High Septon for thirteen years by living in sin with his stepmother. And if Lord Hightower or his cousins irk me further, when he passes, I shall deny his children their legitimacy – being born as they were. And since the Stranger has seen fit to do away with Ser Martyn in Dorne, it would please me if Oldtown shall be inherited by the husband of my dear aunt and my dearest cousin after him. Or I might not, if I feel merciful – even so, a raven should fly to the Hightower to remind its lord that the marriages of my fair cousins shall be determined by my will alone – it would not do for them to marry their cousins."

"I had not considered the possibility", said Uncle Viserys, "though I confess I find some strange appeal to it. If we speak of kin, have you had news of your sister?"

"Daena has deigned to write me", I said to him. "She is with child, and having done his duty, Jonnel has turned himself to pleasure."

Having heard me, uncle rose from his chair, and before him stood not an uncle, but Prince Viserys, Hand of the King. He roared as if he was a dragon true: "The wretched boy dares to take a mistress? I will drag him out of his wolves' den and have him walk barefoot and whipped to King's Landing itself."

I had chosen my words unwisely, perhaps with intention. But his reaction made necessary to ease him of his confusion: "Be calm, Lord Hand. Lord Jonnel has not wandered away from his marital bed. He has taken a company of men and ventured beyond the Wall, to seek the Horn of Winter – having heard of the Seven Stones, he now seeks an ancient relic for himself. Though I would have been most joyous if you would have acted as such when Aegon broke his vows."

My uncle resented my last remark, but his mood was calmer and so was his speech: "You should have spoken clearer, Your Grace. I feel tired, if the King would allow me to retire to my chambers?"
***
The Small Council Chamber

"…and we can conclude that His Grace's expedition, taking account the coin the Braavosi had sent in restitution, and the indemnity that Pentos shall pay, and the plunder taken, has had no effect upon the treasury, but has indeed brought more gold into it." Lord Plumm ended thus his speech, after giving a full reckoning of the workings of the treasury from the day I became king to the present one.

Having heard of the ways I had earned coin; I now gave instruction on how to spend it: "Have your clerks put aside two-thirds of royal share of plunder. And count Pentos' payments with such. I wish to build for the Seven Stones a resting place greater than the Starry Sept, and the Seven should look kindly upon me if a seventh of all plunder, shall go to such deed. And the Pentoshi gold would serve to aid in the construction, without putting another strain on the coffers."

Though perhaps they wished to say otherwise, none of the Council did, knowing that I was resolute in the matter and neither wishing to appear the least pious. My uncle had a look in his eyes but said nothing – we would undoubtedly speak of it in private later.

"For the rest of the coin, put them in the hands of the almoners, so that they may build and keep alms-houses, and bring relief to our poor and weary."

To that, my counsellors were freer with their protests. Lord Hunter had harshly called it a waste, Lord Plumm had, in a manner most subdued, suggested that the coin would be more suited to fill the Golden Granary for the future winter. Lord Alyn and the Hand thought the coin could be used for war, not peace. The Chief Confessor, Maester Rowley, approved of it, on account that it pacified the populace, and Munkun was quick to agree with him, but agreeing was most of what he was doing in his second stint of office – eager to keep his post.

Once we put gold and silver to rest, I turned to Lord Hunter: "My lord, have the men of the City Watch stand on alert and keep the city peaceful."

Lord Hunter was bewildered: "There has been no unrest among the smallfolk, Your Grace. A closer eye is hardly needed, for it would make them wary."

"There has been no unrest, or greater ill deeds, but perhaps for lack of opportunity. But a new dawn brings new trouble. The arrival of the Stones will bring a myriad of pilgrims to King's Landing, eager to see the relics. And cutthroats and thieves, and other villains, with no such pious thought, would think themselves lucky."

Having seen reason, Lord Hunter had no further protests. My uncle however, sought clarification: "You have brought the relics to the Royal Sept. Surely, you do not mean to receive every pilgrim in the Red Keep? It is unwise beyond belief."

"Fear not, uncle, that would not do. We must allow them to see the wonders with their own eyes, so I request that you shall see that the ruins of the Dragonpit be cleansed, to allow for great crowds and the display of the statues."

A septon, who served as scribe for the meetings, shyly made himself heard: "Pardon me, Your Grace, for speaking. But the holy men of the Most Devout have suggested and asked me humbly to bring it before you in counsel, to petition Your Grace to allow the Faith to keep a single chapter of the Warrior's Sons, so that the Seven Stones may be kept in security."

A cacophony of protests arose, defeaning, strident, angry. The septon shrunk under so many wrathful eyes, chief amongst them mine own. I rose and answered him with a cold, steely voice: "I am the only Warrior's Son this realm shall need! Go and remind your master that Hugor of the Hill was no High Septon, but king, and truth was not revealed to a priest, but to a lord of war. And next I lay my eyes upon thee, speak with your own tongue, and not the cunning, slimy words of Septon Abelar, or I shall find another scribe."

The septon fled, and I spoke again: "If I were a man more wretched, I'd ask if none would rid me of this turbulent Most Devout, but I shall forgive his slights once more."

The room was silent. "But the septon's word have some truth beyond them. Ser Vallyn, have Ser Jonos Edgerton summoned to the chamber."

We awaited in silence his arrival. Ser Jonos came, bowed his head low, and asked of duty: "What does Your Grace desire of me?"

"Ser Jonos, summon the men that remain of the host, and who have laid their eyes upon the holiest of relics, and choose from them five score of the most pious and eager for further duty. This Holy Hundred shall guard the Seven Stones, day and night in the Dragonpit, each in their turn. And for seven moons, the Stones shall remain there, so that the pilgrims may gaze upon them and speak their prayers."